The Poetry of Pablo Saborío

Art Work (paintings)

Many have come here before to ask the question. They marveled at the columns and the noise. The incessant murmur of structure emerging within and around itself. They viewed everything as process, energy evolving and dissolving. This is such a time when boundaries and definitions return to a shapeless condition. It is not in vain that you ask for the meaning of meaning. To wonder why colors are glued to one another in orgasmic combinations, why the universe seems so fragile and poetic.

Now, we can approach this in two mutually exclusive ways. You have the power to construct a language around everything you see. Or you can enter this experience without the aid of interpretation. This juncture is vital. Taking the first road will have you walk through life as an atom bouncing off the shells of endless situations. Taking the second road will produce a dance, a field where experience makes ripples similar to illusion traveling through the infinite surface of a dream.

Here is a doorstep and below a gigantic void. The leap is not escapism, but recognition of the futility of narratives that create and re-create themselves without our control. We can move calmly into the unknown; allowing everything to lose its identity and dissolve back into a dream-like cosmos.

2016 :

2015 :

2014 :

Streams of Consciousness (2013) :

Abstract paintings (2009 – 2012):

Portraits/Self-portraits (2009 – 2012):

Experimental/Conceptual painting artwork (2011 -12):

Thanks for your visit.

Old Statements:

What is art? I guess many people have had or still maintain clear ideas of what art is or what it should be. I’ve never been sure about the meaning of art. That’s why I do art, I’m trying to find out what art can be, what it can provoke or stimulate in others, but also to find its limitations, to note its failures. Many people in the past have placed a lot of hope in art. Art a as a means to redemption, salvation or enlightenment: personal, social or political – it’s all the same. After millennia of diverse art forms, I don’t think we can be sure of what art is, what it should do or achieve. Sure, today art is a commodity, we decorate our walls and interior spaces with it, but surely it is much more than that. At least for the artist. But the artist is only exploring, perhaps guessing and trying to find ways to mold his or her reality. In the end we create a new object, we give birth to an original artifact and then keep working, returning the darkness of our solitude to seek new forms and new modes of expression while the finished piece of art is abandoned to a world we cannot control or define. Art for me is scratching the walls of reality, leaving a few incomprehensible marks in a cave or canvas and not worrying about what society or the future will decide about the work. Perhaps everything we do is only vaguely important: pursue a career, start a family, take a drop of acid, travel around the world, listen to music, have sex, laugh, commit a crime or save the lives of millions of starving people. We simply do what we feel we must do. But, if truth be told, no one can be certain if it will hold any definite meaning in the end.

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Art is perception. Perception with meaning. Meaning that goes beyond the insipid realm of words. Philosophers have in vain struggled to define reality. Careful consideration will prove this to be the most absurd conundrum. By definition, the only objects we can define are words. The act of defining is providing an object of reality a corresponding word to name it. Words are sign posts. They point to something other than themselves. Existence is not a word. An attempt to define it is as impossible as to receive nutrition by naming all the ingredients in the plate of food in front of you. Knowledge is not words. Knowledge is to grasp the meaning behind the words. If it were possible one day that, at the peak of our scientific and philosophical endeavor, we attain awareness of all the processes of nature and biological life we may set up a (sign post) model of the whole of reality with words and mathematical formulas, all we’ve done is created a new universe, a replica of this one in our heads. We wouldn’t have defined reality, we would have reproduced it. Reality does not have a meaning, it is meaningless. The only objects that have meaning are the man-made. Or more precisely, meaning comes through as man is The Beholder of the World. A tree does not have meaning, it is not false or true, it just is. Veracity and falsity are only found in our propositions about things, not in things themselves. By nature we are beings that dwell upon Meaning. We are in love with the quest of finding an image of ourselves. We want to become contemplators of our own intimate nature. As the highest quest in life is to know oneself through and through we create mental images of ourselves. And once we have a complete image of ourselves we surpass it, we are new individual with a new knowledge, in short, we are born again.

The objects of art pursue this conquest. They speak to us in perceptions of form and color. They illuminate the objects of our world and their relationship with ourselves. They are, in the highest sense of the word, philosophical. For philosophy, in the most naive sense, is reflection. The Objets d’art reflect the world the surrounds us and is hidden within us, they provide a laboratory for transforming our being. Art materializes into the physical world unspoken intuitions that make up our inner constitution; we bring forth into the world a mirror that reflects our cavernous soul. With the images of art we can shape our mind, for our mind is like a block of marble. The art of life is to mold this sculpture; it is the process of transformation that is at the heart of life itself.

i love the way you express your self into words.it is deep and maybe it is nice if i can`t catch all, that means i am on my safe side, our paintings i love it. But i can see too much pain.Explain to me